


A Night Not To Remember

by SpicedGold



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: And drunk underaged kids, I actually have much better things to be doing with my time, M/M, Other minor characters - Freeform, Underage Drinking, With make up and making out, boys wearing make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: It's important to remember that actions - especially those made when drunk - will have far-reaching consequences. And Shikadai can't show his face in front of his family again.Majsasaurus: I would like him getting really drunk and then... Lets Inojin put makeup on him xDSpicedGold: *Cracks knuckles* Alright, let's do this.
Relationships: Nara Shikadai/Yamanaka Inojin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	A Night Not To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Majsasaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majsasaurus/gifts).



> I have six million other things I'm meant to be doing right now, but you put the idea in my head and it kept me up for two nights, so here, it's your problem now. (. . . And I had to ask my sister how to put make-up on because I've never worn it in my life.)  
> I'm uploading this literally on the way to work, I will do a final check and edit when I get home.

Since Ino was out of town, the When-We-Have-a-Chance-And-Are-All-Around Reunion was at Inojin’s house. Sai was home, but his take on parenting and teenaged gatherings and underaged drinking was ‘if there’s no arterial blood, everything is fine.’ (The rule used to be ‘no blood’ but after one too many brawls and accidents, it was decided that if it’s not gushing out and no one is in any danger of exsanguination, then a little blood wasn’t a concern. Just keep it off the rugs.)

The plan was fairly straight forward – hang out and get drunk. (Boruto’s idea, as per usual, although Chocho was rapidly becoming an enabler.) And generally there wasn’t enough alcohol around for everyone to get drunk, but for some reason Iwabe had brought more than usual, Metal had procured several bottles of something (Which was just wild on so many levels) and Konohamaru had very kindly bought drinks when Boruto asked, and so everyone was just a bit more tipsy than usual.

“You’re drunk,” Chocho observed, squinting at Shikadai. “How much have you had?”

“I dunno, I stopped counting,” Shikadai replied dully. He had made his way to the couch, which had insisted on moving out of his way the first several times he attempted to sit, and he could already sense tomorrow was going to be filled with regret, but it felt nice to relax and not worry about responsibilities for a while, and also Inojin was draped across his chest and stopping him from moving.

So Shikadai finished Inojin’s drink, since the blond was a lightweight and couldn’t handle much, spent a while staring forwards and waiting for the room to stay still and the colours to stop bleeding together, and didn’t question it when Chocho gave him another drink and wandered off to cause mild chaos elsewhere.

Boruto came toddling up, grinning happily, a glass in each hand. “This is fun. We never get _everyone_ together like this.”

“We might have but we didn’t remember it,” Shikadai frowned. “Pretty sure we’re all plastered. God, how did we get so much alcohol at one party?”

“Got lucky, I guess,” Boruto said. He swayed a bit, and Shikadai wasn’t sure if that was because he wasn’t standing up straight, or because Shikadai’s vision was blurring again.

“Should probably stop drinking,” Shikadai muttered.

“None of us have missions tomorrow,” Boruto pointed out. “Why stop?”

Shikadai didn’t have a reason. He shrugged, nearly dislodging Inojin from his position. Inojin dug his fingers into Shikadai’s ribs in response, letting out a miserable whine.

“What?” Shikadai asked.

“Stop moving,” Inojin moaned. “Everything is spinning.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“How much has he had?” Boruto asked.

“Less than everyone else,” Shikadai replied. He jostled Inojin. “Do you need to go lie down?”

“Am lying down,” Inojin mumbled into Shikadai’s jacket.

Shikadai rolled his eyes, and Boruto helpfully put another drink into his hand. “Thanks. Pretty sure I can’t stand up.”

“You have a semi-conscious boyfriend across you,” Boruto pointed out. “You couldn’t stand up anyway.”

Shikadai tested the drink, and grimaced. “What is this? It’s disgusting.”

“I dunno,” Boruto shrugged. “There were a few bottles almost empty so I just mixed up what was left.”

“If this doesn’t kill me, I’m going to punch you when I’m sober again,” Shikadai informed him, taking another sip.

Inojin lifted his head. “Can I have some?”

“No. You’ll die. You can’t handle a shot of schnapps, never mind whatever this is.” Shikadai downed the rest, squeezing his eyes closed as the party swirled around him. The music had been getting progressively louder throughout the evening, and he could feel a slight pounding in the back of his head.

“You’re so warm,” Inojin murmured, nuzzling pointedly into Shikadai’s chest. “You’re so warm and you smell like a forest.” He trailed his hand down Shikadai’s chest, and Shikadai caught his wrist before he went anywhere less than appropriate for company.

Inojin made a grumbly noise of protest, trying to wrestle his hand away.

“You always do this,” Shikadai hissed. “You get so handsy when you’re drunk.”

“Because you’re warm,” Inojin said. “Lemme grope you!”

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Not here.”

“Then let’s go to my room.”

Shikadai glanced around the party. Boruto and Sarada were in a heated debate, Chocho was gesturing wildly at a captive Denki, Iwabe and Mitsuki, and Shikadai couldn’t turn his head any further without everything blurring together so he didn’t bother counting anyone else.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Get up.”

“I can’t. Carry me.” Inojin latched onto Shikadai’s waist.

“Inojin, I don’t even know if I can carry myself.”

“I’ll help you,” Inojin said, and proceeded to lie completely still. After a pause, he asked, “Are we there yet?”

“Nope,” Shikadai heaved Inojin off his lap and stood up. The room flung itself around for a few seconds before settling back to something akin to normal. He grasped Inojin by the upper arm and hauled him up. “Stand up.”

“Carry me like a princess,” Inojin mumbled, flinging his arms around Shikadai’s neck.

“No.”

“Why are you never fun?”

“It’s part of my charm,” Shikadai hitched Inojin’s arm vaguely over his shoulders, and began the excruciatingly long journey to Inojin’s room. Inojin mumbled something else about castles and dragons, but Shikadai was too busy focusing on not falling over to listen to him.

They should probably mention to Sai that the wall was tilting and waving, Shikadai thought, because that didn’t seem safe. Also someone had made the floor extra slippery and the passageway was infinitely longer than it had been the last time Shikadai was here – which had been yesterday; he had to commend Sai on his amazing house renovations in less than twenty-four hours.

Against all odds, they managed to stagger to Inojin’s room, sort of close the door, and not collapse into a tangled heap on the floor.

“I need another drink,” Inojin said. “Don’t you think so?”

“No.” Shikadai shoved Inojin towards the bed. The boy fell down easily and willingly, hair mussing against the pillow, blue eyes shining and looking everywhere but at Shikadai. “You’re drunk already.”

“So’re you,” Inojin claimed, making vague grabby hands until Shikadai magically appeared within his grasp and was next to him on the bed and kissing him sloppily and noisily. Inojin threw a leg across Shikadai’s hips, giggling a bit at the feel of fingers sliding through his hair.

“Shush,” Shikadai chastised, adding nonsensically, “Someone will hear us.”

“No one will hear us, because we’re ninja,” Inojin replied, licking Shikadai’s lower lip.

“Fair enough,” Shikadai consented, snorting in amusement as Inojin wriggled closer, making repeated ineffectual attempts to get a grip on Shikadai’s jacket.

“You’re gorgeous,” Shikadai muttered, closing his fingers tighter in Inojin’s blond hair. “I don’t tell you enough, but you are.”

“Ha,” Inojin mumbled, a touch of triumph in his tone. “You say _I’m_ drunk but you’re _much_ drunker than me because you never say nice things like that to me.”

“Am drunk,” Shikadai agreed vaguely. He tugged Inojin impossibly closer. “But you’re beautiful, and I want you to know that.”

Inojin hid in his neck with an embarrassed laugh, muffling his words against Shikadai’s skin, “Should get you drunk more often . . .”

They were silent for a few moments, between little kisses and wandering hands, until Shikadai felt a knot of nausea in his stomach and rolled away from Inojin, onto his back, to see if the feeling would go away.

Inojin made a vague grab for Shikadai, not wanting him to leave, before giving up and remaining lying where he was, blinking in a rather unfocused manner.

“Oh, jesus fuck, has your ceiling always spun around like that?” Shikadai squinted upwards. “It’s making me sick.”

“Then stop looking at it,” Inojin suggested.

“Hm,” Shikadai rolled onto his other side, ran out of bed, and landed on the floor. He stayed there, trying to remember how to move his limbs. The floor wasn’t that comfortable to lie on, and after a long time he managed to sit up and seek out a better location in the room.

His stomach settled, and he somehow managed to summon the coordination to get up and flap his hands at Inojin’s desk chair. It was such a comfy chair, although it rolled away when Shikadai tried to sit on it, and that confused him for a moment before he remembered it was on wheels and this was normal behaviour for things on wheels.

Inojin sat on the edge of the bed, watching Shikadai as he gently pushed his foot on the floor and rocked the chair back and forth. The sound of footsteps got their attention.

“Oh, thank god you still have clothes on,” Chocho poked her head around the door. “Inojin, toss me the waterproof mascara, I have a point to prove.”

Inojin wobbled to his desk and yanked a drawer open, pulling up a large box. He rummaged around for a moment, then threw a tube lightly across the room. “Here.”

“Thanks. Make good choices.” She winked at them, then vanished.

Shikadai was squinting quizzically at the box, leaning forward. “Why has Chocho got all this make-up at your house?”

“This is mine,” Inojin replied nonchalantly.

“What?” Shikadai asked flatly.

Inojin sent him a look over his shoulder. “I didn’t get as good as I am by just waiting for Chocho to ask for help. I practice.”

“On yourself?”

“Yes.”

Shikadai felt a sliver of sobriety returning. “How long have you been doing that?”

“Few months. Makes me feel good about myself.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Because you,” Inojin came back to him, plopping into his lap, laying his hands on Shikadai’s shoulders. “Bitch and moan all the time when I bring up stuff like this.”

Shikadai shrugged one shoulder.

“Wanna see?” Inojin offered.

“No.”

“I take pics, to show Chocho. And to remember, if I like something or if something just looked really good on me.”

“No.”

“See? That’s why I don’t tell you things like this,” Inojin gave him a look. “You don’t understand them.”

“You have yet to explain it in a way that makes sense.”

Inojin leant in close, the chair making a protesting squeaking noise at the shift in weight. “Will you listen to me, then? If I tell you?”

“Well, I can’t go anywhere with you sitting on me, so yeah.”

Inojin stared at him, slightly glassy but blue eyes still aware. Shikadai let out a tense breath, captivated.

“I can take the best things about you and make them better,” Inojin murmured. “Show them off in a different way, make everyone look twice . . . It’s no different to painting. Everyone is just a blank sheet of paper, and I get to make something beautiful from it. It’s the same sort of feeling, the same sort of satisfaction . . . Shikadai, it makes me happy, and I can do it over and over.” He brushed the back of his fingers against Shikadai’s hair. “I can paint sunsets on your eyes and red on your lips and then wipe it off and do it again with different colours and it’ll never be the same but it’ll always be you . . .”

Shikadai blinked at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“It’s something I love doing,” Inojin continued, tugging his fingers through Shikadai’s ponytail. “It’s like learning new things about myself and who I am, and I really, really wish you’d let me do it to you so I can see another side of you. And it’s fun, and I’ve been wanting to share this with you for months but I was worried about what you’d think of me . . .”

“Inojin,” Shikadai murmured. “I’d never think less of you. Any of you. Anything you want is fine with me.”

“Let me do your make-up?” Inojin asked hopefully. “Just once. I’ve thought about it so much and I know exactly what I’d want to do, and I’ll never ask again . . .”

Looking into Inojin’s beautiful, earnest blue eyes had always been a weakness of Shikadai’s, and he felt it keenly now. Must have been the alcohol. Must have been the way Inojin stared back at him, with his bangs just slightly mussed from the way he had been rubbing his forehead into Shikadai’s chest earlier.

He had this horrible, irritating way of making Shikadai want to do anything to make him happy.

Shikadai blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision. It stayed fuzzy at the edges, and the chair was wobbling a bit beneath him, but Inojin was clearly in focus and doing his annoying staring thing with a needy little pout on his face, and Shikadai felt like it was a thousand degrees in the room.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Inojin froze in place. “What? Really?”

“Yeah, whatever. Just this once. If it’s that important to you.”

“Really?” Inojin asked again, hardly able to believe his luck. “Can I?”

“If I say yes, you’ll stop bugging me about it, and also I’m really fucking drunk and probably won’t remember much of tonight so win-win.”

Inojin surged forward to kiss him in excitement, nearly sending them both tumbling to the floor, but Shikadai was quick enough to grip his arms and hold him still and let out a soft, involuntary moan into Inojin’s mouth. Inojin sat back, overbalancing and remaining where he was by virtue of Shikadai’s death grip only.

“Thank you,” Inojin said, eyes sparkling.

Shikadai already regretted it. “Could just make out and forget all about this-“

“This is my one and only opportunity,” Inojin stood up. “I am not letting this pass by.”

He peered into the box, deftly picking out a few things. “I guess you won’t let me paint your nails as well?”

“I’d rather die.”

Inojin snorted a laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re such a drag.” Shikadai settled his hands on Inojin’s hips as the other boy sat on his lap again, this time clutching a tiny little brush.

“Close your eyes,” Inojin requested.

Shikadai made a face. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Inojin fixed him a haughty stare. “How else do you think eyeshadow is applied?”

“How do you do this to yourself if your eyes are closed?” Shikadai wondered.

“Practice. And one eye at a time,” Inojin said. “Now close your eyes and shut up.”

Shikadai grimaced a bit, but did as he was asked, mentally repeating that it would be over faster if he just cooperated. He flinched at the first touch of pressure against his eyelids, the sensation odd and unsettling.

“How long does this take?” he grumbled, nose scrunching up in distaste.

“Longer and longer every time you wriggle and mess up my shading,” Inojin rebuked. “Can I put eyeliner on you? You’ve got such nice eyelashes.”

“That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me. And no.”

“Please?” Inojin asked, voice taking on a slight whine. “Please, it’ll make you look so good.”

“I don’t want to look good.”

“But I want you to look good.” Inojin brushed a finger under Shikadai’s eye, catching his lashes, dragging them slightly. “Please? It’ll just be this once.”

“Fine,” Shikadai said, exasperated. “Once.”

“Thank you!” Inojin pressed a quick, excited kiss to Shikadai’s lips, and the odd pressure on his eyelids returned.

Eventually, Inojin bounced once on Shikadai’s lap, and said, “You can open your eyes now. Do you want to see? I can grab a mirror-“

“I don’t want to see, I don’t want to know,” Shikadai said. “I just want this to be over, and you to be happy. That’s all.”

Inojin smiled gently at him. Shikadai didn’t know if it was because he was drunk off his ass, but Inojin’s smile was more breathtaking than usual. It relaxed him, and he slumped a bit more.

Inojin reached to his desk for something else, leaning in close, mere inches from Shikadai’s face, looking intently at his eyes. Shikadai jerked away on reflex at the sight of something moving far too close to his eyeball for comfort.

“It’s fine,” Inojin said dismissively. “I won’t slip, I promise.”

“You’re drunk, how can I trust your coordination?” Shikadai argued. “Maybe pointy pencils near my eyes isn’t a good idea.”

“Trust me,” Inojin said, in a breathy whisper, and Shikadai relented.

“Fine. But don’t you dare blind me.”

“I won’t,” Inojin assured. He leaned in again, and Shikadai took the time to study the colours in his eyes, the little pout of his mouth. “Look up,” Inojin ordered softly.

Shikadai raised his eyes, focusing on fluffy blond hair, and the ceiling, which was still moving. He dropped his gaze back to Inojin’s hair, which was being much more cooperative. Watching Inojin was immensely satisfying, and it was almost enough to overcome Shikadai’s mortification over the whole scenario. Because Inojin was glowing, all his movements sure and confident, lighting up the way he did when a painting was going well, when he was excited and happy.

It was a side of him that Shikadai didn’t get to see all that often, and it felt like a loss of dignity might be worth it.

Inojin picked up another pen-like object, shifted back in Shikadai’s lap, and focused on his mouth.

Shikadai swallowed, throat feeling dry, all his limbs tingling. Another drink sounded good.

“Stay still,” Inojin breathed, fingers holding lightly to Shikadai’s chin.

How was Shikadai meant to stay still when the room was spinning? “It’s not easy, everything else is moving.”

“Stay still,” Inojin repeated insistently. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“I think I’ve already made mine.” Shikadai stared at the blue of Inojin’s eyes. They were furrowed in concentration, and the tip of his tongue copied the path his pen was making across Shikadai’s lip. Shikadai stayed obediently in place until Inojin withdrew the pen and eyed the lines around Shikadai’s lips critically, and by then Shikadai’s shaky self-control crumbled even more, and he wanted nothing more than to hold Inojin down and kiss him breathless.

He leaned forwards, keen to enact his plan, but found Inojin abruptly jerking back, placing a hand on his chest to stop him.

“No kisses,” Inojin mumbled. “You’ll ruin it.”

“This is why I fucking hate make-up,” Shikadai grumbled, but he remained still.

“When it’s finished,” Inojin added, brow scrunching a bit in concentration as he finished off the lines. “Then you can kiss me. Then you can kiss me a lot.” He bit his lower lip, still working, but adding in a quiet voice, “Sometimes I put lipstick on and think about kissing you. I’d leave marks all over you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t ruin my fantasy.”

Shikadai groaned, a stab of despair appearing in the fog of his mind, but Inojin was doing his pretty little pouting thing again so he stayed quiet.

Sort of quiet. “You’ll take this stuff off again, right?”

“When I’m done,” Inojin said mildly. “Can I take some photos?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But it looks so good,” Inojin whined, bouncing a bit in Shikadai’s lap. It was terribly distracting. “I never get to use the green eye shadow because it doesn’t work on me.”

“None of this should work on you,” Shikadai grumbled. “None of it should be on you.”

“I’ll show you the photo I took when I did a blue ombre and you’ll change your mind,” Inojin fumbled for a tube of lipstick. “I looked amazing.”

“Ugh,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “You’re making me sick.”

“It’s the alcohol. Stop talking, please.”

Shikadai sighed, slumping a bit, and letting Inojin manhandle him further. It felt strange, having stuff smeared on his lips, but it was also oddly captivating to watch the enraptured look on Inojin’s face, the utter concentration with an underlying glow of pleasure, with a small smile playing on his expression.

“There,” Inojin stood up, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect.”

“Great. Get it off now.”

“Can I take one picture?”

“No,” Shikadai was trying to resist rubbing at his face. It felt weird and sticky, and he wanted everything to go back to normal.

“Please,” Inojin begged. “Just one?”

There was a low, impressed whistle from the doorway.

Chocho blinked, “Whoa. You actually did it. You somehow managed to convince him.”

“We are very, very drunk,” Shikadai explained.

“I can see that,” Chocho approached. “Damn, Inojin, you must be magic. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shikadai reached a hand up to tap curiously at his lips and see what it felt like.

“Don’t touch it,” Inojin snapped. “I’m gonna do me quick as well.”

“What?”

“I’m just gonna put something on real quick, so we can take a commemorative photo,” Inojin waved vaguely at Shikadai. “Don’t move.”

“You’re not taking photos,” Shikadai said, before a flash of light made him startle in his seat.

Chocho eyed her phone. “You blinked. Let me try again.”

“I said _no!_ ”

“I’m not ready yet,” Inojin whined.

“If you take another photo, I will leave,” Shikadai said warningly.

Chocho scoffed. “And go where? Out into the party where all your friends can see you wearing green eyeshadow with winged eyeliner, and maroon lipstick? Go ahead. Leave. You wouldn’t dare.”

For some reason his brain wasn’t working, and he couldn’t come up with a suitable retort. He stewed on his chair, occasionally jumping in place as Chocho flashed more photos, and by the time Inojin draped himself over his shoulder, grinning madly and unusually sparkly, Shikadai was starting to feel depressingly sober.

And exhausted.

“Inojin,” he mumbled, eyes drooping. “Time for bed. Get this stuff off my face, now.”

“The removing wipes are in the same drawer,” Chocho put in helpfully, and Shikadai was quick to grab them, ignoring the disappointed ‘aw’ from Inojin as he cleaned his face.

“Never mention this again,” he warned, and Chocho raised an eyebrow.

Inojin pressed a wet kiss to Shikadai’s neck, then leant against him, mumbling something about being held up.

“Should probably get him into bed,” Chocho suggested.

“Yeah,” Shikadai shuffled Inojin across the room, and the blond fell happily in a drunken heap, blinking slowly once or twice, before seeming to fade off into unconsciousness. Shikadai watched him fondly for a minute before tugging the blankets from underneath him, and climbing into bed over him, to get closer to the open window, since Inojin tended to snuggle too close and overheat everyone and Shikadai was already sweating.

Chocho left again, no doubt to check on the state of the rest of the party, and Shikadai had dozed off, vaguely aware of Inojin squirming around, and grabbing at him, and tugging at it his clothes, but most of that activity passed him by in a daze.

He pried an eye open when Chocho returned, by which time Inojin was conked out again.

“Move up, boys, I’m staying too,” Chocho announced.

Shikadai groaned, “There isn’t room. Go sleep somewhere else.”

“There are people passed out everywhere else, and Inojin is practically dead, he’s not taking up much room.” She ushered Shikadai up, and he dragged Inojin’s unresponsive body closer. Chocho flopped down on the edge of the bed. “Good night.”

“Huh,” Shikadai replied vaguely, snuggling into Inojin’s hair. He felt Chocho drape an arm across Inojin as well, before sleep tugged him away.

Inojin had been kind enough to cure Shikadai’s aching head, but had been unable to do a thing about the rolling nausea and the bitter taste in the back of Shikadai’s throat. Which was fair enough, Inojin had barely been conscious enough to mumble something about not training today and dying slowly instead.

Chocho, curse her metabolism, had cheerily walked Shikadai home, given him a jaunty wave goodbye, and marched off to meet her father for breakfast.

Shikadai staggered into the house, using the wall to hold himself up, mind fixated first on an ice-cold drink, and then he would collapse into bed and remain there until he felt like himself again.

That was the plan, anyway.

The plan, much like some memories of last night, vanished.

Temari was in the kitchen, and spun to face him when he entered, looking absolutely delighted to see him.

Shikadai stopped in the doorway, eying her cautiously. “Um . . .”

“He’s home!” she crowed, grinning wildly. “Shikamaru! He’s home!”

“I’m coming!” Shikamaru shouted from the depths of the house, before appearing right behind Shikadai, flicking a hand through his hair as he passed. “Hey, kid. Welcome back.”

Shikadai stayed where he was, gripping the doorframe. Muddled as he might be, he could sense that something was not right about his parents. They stood side by side in an unusually united front, both with matching expressions of delight.

Shikadai was suspicious. “. . . Yes . . .?”

“How was last night?” Temari asked, as innocently as she could.

“. . . Fine . . .”

“Anything you want to tell us?” Shikamaru asked, trying and failing to keep a wide grin off his face.

“No,” Shikadai’s need for water overcame his caution, and he slunk past them to the fridge.

“Since you were out the whole night,” Temari added on. “Maybe you had something to say about that?”

“I’ve spent the whole night out before,” he groused, wondering why they were being so weird.

“Yes,” Shikamaru agreed, and Shikadai’s blood turned cold at the completely undisguised mischief in his tone. “But you never usually send us photos.”

Oh no.

 _Oh no_ , Inojin wouldn’t – would he?

Shikadai spun around to face them, all the colour draining from his face. “What did Inojin do?”

“He just kept us updated on what you were doing,” Shikamaru beamed. “You know, so we knew you were safe when you were drinking unsupervised. We’re just concerned parents wanting to know our child isn’t doing anything dangerous-“

“Whatever he said, it was a lie,” Shikadai defended. “And whatever he showed you was . . . was . . . wasn’t me!”

“Sure looks like you,” Temari turned her phone to him, and there he was, deadpan expression, with Inojin hanging off his shoulder and grinning widely.

Shikadai hung his head, cheeks burning red. “I can explain-“

“There you are again,” Temari cooed. “All made up and adorable.”

“What a drag queen,” Shikamaru put in.

“ _DAD!_ ”

Both parents erupted into giggles, and Shikadai had never before wanted the earth to open up and swallow him more than he did at that moment.

“Inojin sent lots,” Temari said, staring right at Shikadai, eyes mirthful.

“Delete those!” Shikadai demanded.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Temari smirked. “Look how cute you are.”

“ _MOM!_ ”

“Kankuro said you looked adorable,” Shikamaru added gleefully, and Shikadai almost died on the spot.

“You sent them to Uncle Kankuro? _Why?_ What did I ever do to you?” Shikadai dragged his hands over his face. “I’ll never be able to go to Suna again!”

A sudden thought struck him, and he turned his horrified expression to his mother. “You didn’t send it to Shinki? Please tell me you didn’t show Shinki. He will _judge_ me.”

“No more than we already did,” Temari said cheerily.

“And she sent it to everyone,” Shikamaru added smugly.

Shikadai leant against the fridge, feeling like his legs were going to give out. The nausea was ten times worse.

“Next time you get blackout drunk,” Temari said, smiling thinly. “Think about the consequences.”

Inojin was sitting quietly under a tree, sketching, and smiled at his page when Shikadai came to sit beside him.

Shikadai nudged his shoulder against Inojin. “So when I changed my shirt this morning I found a lipstick mark on my chest.”

Inojin didn’t look up, but Shikadai could hear the grin in his voice. “Is that only one you found?”

Shikadai glanced down at his body, frowning. “Are there more?”

“Should be.”

“Where are they?”

Inojin looked up, finally, cheeks flushing a bit pink. “Uh . . . Can’t really show you all of them here.”

Shikadai leant his head back against the tree with a sigh.

“We can go back to my house and I’ll show you,” Inojin offered.

Shikadai huffed out a laugh. “Alright, fine. But if you open that desk drawer, I am leaving.”

Inojin grinned. “I won’t.”

He entwined his fingers with Shikadai’s, and stood up, giving Shikadai his charming little boyish smile at the same time. Shikadai followed him with another heavy sigh.

At least this morning promised to be more fun than last night.

And he would remember it clearly.


End file.
